


Soaked

by musicalsmarvelandmore



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Race, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Spot, Self-blaming, Sick Race
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalsmarvelandmore/pseuds/musicalsmarvelandmore
Summary: Leaving Brooklyn one morning after spending the night with Spot, Race finds himself soaked by newsies, soaked by the East River, and arrested without anyone knowing what happened.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 31
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

“Ain’t they missin’ yous in ‘Hattan yet, Racer?”  
  
Race groaned, not wanting to wake up. “Spot, what’s you’s even doin’. It’s early.”  
  
The blanket was ripped off of him as Spot kept on talking, way too loud. “It ain’t that early, Racer. And you’s gotta get back. The circulation bells are about ta start ringing.”  
  
Race yawned, rolling up into a semi-upright position. “Spot, Jack ain’t gonna care if I’m late.”  
  
“Kelly will. And he’ll blame it on me and I ain’t puttin’ up with it, ya hear me? If he tries ta lecture me one more time, I swear, I’m soakin’ ‘im.”  
  
“But Spot, if you start a turf war, I ain’t gonna be ‘llowed over here no more.”  
  
Spot rolled his eyes, leaning in for a kiss. Race shoved Spot off of him. “I’s withholdin’.”  
  
Race looked up at the other boy to see him smirking. “Like yous could last that long, Racer. I knows that ain’t what yous said last night.”  
  
Race yawned again, figuring that he probably should get out of here and back across the bridge to get his papes. He was scrambling to put on his clothes, and was halfway out the door, still exhausted, before Spot stopped him.

“Hey, yous know I ain’t gonna see yous tonight, right?”  
  
Race nodded. “Yous said that last night. But you know you’ll miss me.”  
  
“I got shit to do, Racer. Matter o’ fact, so should you. Ain’t you s’posed ta be the second or somethin’.”  
  
“Yeah, I is. And damn proud of it. ‘Hattan’s way better than stinkin’ Brooklyn.”  
  
Spot shoves Race again. “Whatever Racer. I’ll see yous later. Don’t be as stupid as you usually is.”  
  
Race laughed, not given a reply beyond that, mostly because he wouldn’t promise anything. That was him and Spot’s relationship, especially when it wasn’t late at night and they were together, most definitely alone, and sure that no one else was listening. But Racer loved it, because that had always been them, ever since they met and spit shake on being friends.  
  
He walked out of Brooklyn lodging. Race didn’t like to think of it as sneaking. While it wasn’t uncommon knowledge Race spent some nights in Brooklyn, they weren’t exactly going to throw around that information. They had to be a secret, and while that could cause many eye rolls from the boys who knew, it was important. This stuff had to be done, and Racer would protect himself, but more than that, protect Spot. Spot might not think he needed it, but Race knew him better than that.  
  
The city was fairly quiet, too early for most people to be awake. Heck, Race didn’t want to be awake. As it was, he’d arrive after the boys from lodging and the circulation bell.  
  
That was the downfall with spending the night with Spot over in Brooklyn. Race hated waking up early, but he’d do what he had to do. Spending the night with Spot was worth it.  
  
With that being said, hopefully tonight he’d actually be able to catch up on sleep. It was unlikely, but a boy could dream. There was always stuff going on, and Race always ended up in the thick of it, which honestly, he preferred. Race loved people, especially his brothers. It might be nice to have a night with them. Definitely a different kind of night than the kind that he shared with Spot, but good all the same.  
  
Besides the whole worrying about having enough money for him and his brothers to live and not getting hurt, Race actually didn’t mind life as a newsie. Sure, things could always be better, but they could also always be worse.   
  
He just had made it onto the bridge, which might be his error. The bridge was technically no newsie’s turf. If he hadn’t taken those few extra minutes that morning talking to Spot, then maybe he would have made it over to Manhattan in time.  
  
But really, he couldn’t blame himself. Logically, Race knew that, because he wasn’t the one being a complete idiot.  
  
He was, however, the one who was walking like everything was normal in the predawn light when he was met with a hit to the side of the head.

For a second, everything blurred. Race stumbled backwards, only to be grabbed by hands that he could have sworn weren’t there before.  
  
His cheek and eye felt like they were exploding with pain. But that was nothing compared to the jolt when he was thrown to the ground, his head colliding with the bridge. Fuck, ow that hurt.  
  
Race peered up, trying to get a good view at his attackers, to see who they were. It could just be a prank. An awful one at that, but that would be better than the alternative.  
  
There were four boys, wait, no make that five because one had got around behind him, hauling the boy up by the back of his collar. Race’s head was already throbbing.  
  
One boy in front of him spit at him, hitting Racer in the cheek. He knew that boy.  
  
That was a Brooklyn boy.  
  
But Race didn’t have time to think about the implications of that now. Because that boy was talking.  
  
“Yous a dumbass. A ‘Hattan dumbass. Stay on your own fucking turf.”  
  
The boy behind him moved his hands from Race’s collar down to his arms, pulling them tightly behind him. Trying to not let him lash out. Race tried to struggle away anyway, as another gob of spit landed on him.  
  
“Spot is a weakling. Yous ain’t gonna see him no more. Stay away from Brooklyn. Unless you want a repeat of this, you little bitch.”  
  
Race jerked again, trying to get away. “Fuck you,” he spat out. He would not stand down. He was supposed to be able to fight, to actually be able to do something in retaliation. But these boys outnumbered him. That didn’t mean he would go down easy, but he was already at a disadvantage.  
  
A slap to the side of his head made his ear ring, but Race refused to acknowledge it. These guys were just assholes. He had been dealing with people like that all his life.

He just had never imagined that it’d be coming from other newsies.  
  
Especially from Brooklyn. Spot’s newsies. Race tried to memorize their faces. His head was throbbing. He was too dazed to figure out more than the basics of the situation, but that would just have to come later. He had to know who was doing this to him. Because these were some Brooklyn boys, and Race would make them pay.  
The hits hurt, but he had been taking those all his life. The pain was there, twisting and throbbing, but Race could get through anything.  
  
It took him a moment to realize that the jerk behind him had dropped his hands, but as soon as he did, Race was already lunging, trying to throw a punch.  
  
That might actually be his mistake, throwing himself off balance. He felt his fist collide with flesh of one of the other boys, but even as the punch landed, Race was shoved.  
  
Race stumbled, trying to regain his balance as his feet came closer and closer to the edge of the bridge, the rushing water of the East River below him.   
  
“Don’t come back. Or else we’ll do a lot worse.”  
  
Those were the last words that Race heard before he was shoved again, but this time, his feet left the planks of the bridge and Race plummeted towards the murky water below.

Race gasped as he fell through the air. He didn’t have time to get his mind wrapped around what had happened, but he was falling towards the river. He didn’t even have the time to scream.  
It was hard to breathe even as he was falling. Race collided with the water, pain shooting throughout his body on impact. And then he couldn’t breathe at all.  
  
The East River was dark, and Race felt like all his limbs were heavy, being dragged down. 

For a moment, he just floated, suspended in the water. Race kept his mouth closed before he couldn’t take it anymore. He automatically tried to breathe, gasping and choking on the water.   
Race flailed, ignoring the pain. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t swim, but he had to try. He would not die here. He wouldn’t drown, his body left or to wash up on the banks. He had so much to live for- Spot, his brothers, and just life. He tried to move, to swim, even though he didn’t know how.   
Race choked again on water, even as he flailed towards the light. The current was strong, pulling him down river and trying to keep him under.  
  
His head broke the surface, and he gasped at the fresh air before his head submerged again. Race kicked, desperately trying to get back up there, to breathe, his kicks becoming more and more frantic.  
  
He had to get out of the river. He was barely making it as it was, and he wasn’t going to last much longer. Race’s head went back under the surface, even as he kicked and struggled.  
  
Even later, Race wasn’t sure how he made it to the bank of the river. He figured that it was probably just pure stubbornness. He kept falling underwater, but he also kept kicking, desperately trying to propel himself to the bank.  
  
When he pulled himself back onto dry land, Race coughed, choking and gasping as he tried not to slide back into the river. He kept coughing, rough, spewing up the East River with each gasping breath. None of this was okay, but he was getting there.  
  
It was still nearly impossible to breathe, and Race was exhausted. The early morning pre-dawn light didn’t really inspire him to go anywhere.  
  
He was so tired, deep in his bones. Race didn’t know whether he had ever been this tired before and he had been working for years. But that was nothing as compared to now.  
  
Race didn’t mean to close his eyes, but just so exhausted. It was like he couldn’t even move anymore. All this stuff, it was just way too much, and he couldn’t even begin to cope with the challenges. The situation that led him to end up here.  
  
He couldn’t open his eyes anymore, and before he knew it, the rest of the world had just faded away before him. There was nothing left.


	2. Chapter 2

Race was dragged back into consciousness with a harsh cough, as his lungs still struggled to bring in enough air.  
  
It probably took him far too long to notice that a few things had changed. For the first thing, it was bright out, far too bright for the early pre-dawn light that existed in the last moments he remembered.  
  
For the second, and far more relevant change, a foot was colliding with his side, hard, causing even more pain to his already injured ribs.  
  
Race lashed out on instinct, before he could even recognize who was there. All of this stuff was far too much, but that was just going to have to be enough. He didn’t know what was happening, but all of this, it was just dangerous. He was a teenager alone in New York City without anyone knowing where he was.  
  
In other words, he was in trouble.  
  
One of his attackers grabbed one of Race’s wrists, fingers digging harshly into the boy’s arm, yanking the boy up. Race wheezed, trying to find his balance, though the whole thing felt near impossible now. He was still exhausted, all the way down to his bones. None of this was any good anymore, but he just didn’t know what to do, or how to take care of all of this, not while breathing was still difficult. His impromptu dunking in the East River had made sure of that.  
  
He wanted to fight back. That was supposed to be who he was, but every single part of him just felt completely exhausted.   
  
And for what must have been the first time in his life for many, many years, since he ran away and joined the newsies, Race backed down from a fight.  
  
It was practically impossible to be able to do anything else about it, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He should be able to fight back, to actually do something, but he just couldn’t anymore.  
  
When he told Spot about this, he would definitely omit that detail.  
  
Spot... What was he supposed to tell Spot? What was there even to say? When would his boyfriend even realize that there was something wrong? He wasn’t supposed to see Spot for a few days, but the Manhattan newsies would just assume that he was over there.  
  
Race was in so much trouble and no one would be looking for him anytime soon.  
  
His attackers dragged him along by his arms, as Race tried to get his legs underneath him, but that was doing absolutely nothing to support his weight. None of this would work, but that didn’t make that any easier. He just didn’t know what to do, not anymore.  
  
It was hard to see, though Race wasn’t sure if that was because of the hits he had taken to his head or the water or any combination of those factors. He was still soaking wet and shivering.

The men holding him threw him onto the ground. Race’s reflexes were slow, too slow. Slow enough that he couldn’t get his hands out in front of him in enough time to catch himself before his head bounced off the road.

For a few seconds, all Race saw were stars, as the men seized his arms, handcuffing them behind his back. He froze at that. Even though things were moving slower than they should have been, he knew what that meant.

They had arrested him. And now, he was likely on his way back to the Refuge.

It was perhaps one of the few ways to make this day even worse. No one knew what had happened to him, or where he was going. No one would suspect anything. And now, he was in even more trouble.

Race had been in the Refuge before, but it wasn’t as if that was a comforting thought. Just because he had already survived and gotten through to the other side did not mean that this would be any easier to survive.

The policemen- as Race could now recognize them- grabbed Race by the shoulders, dragged him up again before dropping him in the back of a carriage. Their grips were hard, and Race knew his arms would be covering in bruises from their fingers. As if he didn’t have enough bruises from being soaked only a few hours prior. As if it wasn’t going to be anything compared to when Snyder brought Race down to his office or when one of the guards decided that he got too mouthy.

Race groaned, half out of pain and half out of frustration. This was honestly one of the worst days ever, especially since he knew that it was about to get even worse.

When the carriage finally stopped and the police came around back to drag him out once more, the sun was still barely over the horizon. The newsies bell should be about to ring- but who would even notice that Race was missing? He knew what would happen. The boys- his brothers- would think he had gotten up late from Brooklyn and had just stayed over there to sell. Probably prepare a few jokes at Race’s expense and maybe joke about how much they were going to tease him for missing getting papes because he was in Brooklyn with his boyfriend.  
  
Race stumbled along, trying not to puke at the nausea that was in full force. Almost definitely a head injury, but he wasn’t sure what from. His chest hurt, even though he wasn’t sure why. Everything was just far too overwhelming, but there wasn’t a way to get out of this mess.  
  
He didn’t look up. He knew what he’d see there- the looming gates of the Refuge. That wasn’t a picture he needed right now. Everything was going wrong, but he was just going to have to figure out his own way to take care of it.  
  
Race knew the layout of the Refuge too well. Details of it haunted him. Sure, he wasn’t in here as much as Jack, but being in here at all was too much for anyone. He closed his eyes, his head throbbing painfully, everything already from the day being way too much. It was just going to get worse, he knew that, but the least he could do was try to get his head to stop hurting so much.  
  
The arresting officers took him into Snyder’s office, forcing him onto his knees. He could hear footsteps- probably one of them going to get Snyder. It was way too early for this. Heck, Snyder wasn’t even awake yet, and Race was already getting thrown into the Refuge.  
  
Race kept his eyes closed, trying to listen. Trying not to think about things that were going to happen. In an ideal world, someone would know that he was missing, and tonight he’d be looking forward to a visit at the window, but that wouldn’t happen. It was unlikely to happen in the next couple of days. Race loved his two borough life, but right now, it definitely had a lot of disadvantages.  
  
It didn’t really matter what he did anymore because he was all alone. The last time he had got sent to the Refuge, he had managed to save one of his brothers. The time before that, he and Al had been arrested together. And Race didn’t like being alone.  
  
More footsteps, and Race opened his eyes, his back already tensing in preparation for what he knew all too well was about to come. It wasn’t fair, any of this, but Race wasn’t going to back down. Spot had to know what had happened, what some of his boys had done. Race had to get the opportunity to explain.  
  
Race regretted that morning in a way that he hadn’t really known was possible. If only he had done something different, anything different. Though, really, what else was he supposed to do, anyway? It wasn’t his fault. All he had done was spent the night with his boyfriend. Sure, that had put him in an undesirable position now, but that wasn’t because of him. He had the right to. Everything sucked afterwards, and now he was screwed, but he couldn’t actually take responsibility for that one. Sure, Race messed up a lot, but this time wasn’t his fault.  
  
That didn’t mean that he couldn’t have done things differently and not ended up in this situation, but he was here now. He was just going to have to put up with it and hope that things would get better. Like he’d be able to get out of here.  
  
That would not happen though. Race had never successfully escaped from the Spider before, even though he had never stopped trying. All the escape attempts ever got him was more time stuck in here. It felt like Race had never been able to do anything by himself.  
  
Snyder himself walked in front of Race, the boy straightening and raising his chin, defiant even though he knew that it wouldn’t get him anywhere good. Snyder smirked, staring down at the boy.  
  
“Higgins, welcome back to the Refuge.”


	3. Chapter 3

Race didn’t let himself show any sign of weakness at the words. Snyder might treat Jack the worst, but that didn’t suddenly make him decent to the rest of the newsies, or really any kid in New York. Race was alone now, but that didn’t mean that he would give up, no matter how awful he felt. His lungs felt like they were burning, though he wasn’t quite sure why. The day had already been exhausting, but all of this was just the beginning.

“Whatever, Snyder. You still mad that you can’t keep Jacky Kelly in here? Like, you bein’ obsessed with ‘im is creepy. You’s should get youself a hobby or-“

He broke off when a blow nailed him on the back of his head, and Race yelped in pain as he pitched forward, fortunately stopping before hitting the ground. In all the times he had been in the Refuge, Race had never quite kept his mouth shut. But honestly, Snyder was a jerk and deserved anything that was coming to him. Even if the only thing Race could throw at him was his words.

“Higgins, I would recommend that you kept your mouth shut, unless you wanted to add to your list of charges and already extend your stay here.”

Race opened his mouth to respond again, but before he could say anything, he started coughing. The coughs were painful, coming from deep in his chest, but worst of all, it just wouldn’t stop. It was hard to breathe, and he felt helpless, like Snyder held the power here as he loomed over Race. The only weapon Race ever had to fight back with was his words, and now his coughs took that away from him. He couldn’t believe that he had been pushed in the East River. Honestly though, this already ranked in one of the worst days of his life, including the last day before he ran away and found the newsies, or all the other hellish days that he had spent locked in the Refuge.

When the coughing finally subsided, Race took a few deep breaths, finally able to get air. Snyder was still looking down at him, his face full of disdain, but Race just tried to ignore it. He didn’t need to be putting up with this. He had to believe in himself, and that meant not backing down for anything, no matter what anyone might try. He hated feeling weak, so he just had to ignore it. Maybe then the feeling would go away.

If there was one good thing that the coughing did for him, apparently it made him look pitiful and cowed enough that Snyder didn’t want to waste the blows. “Bring Mr. Higgins here up to Bunk Room A.”

Race was still focusing on breathing as a pair of guards yanked him upright, pulling him away from Snyder. He knew that he should be relieved that he didn’t have to deal with this now, but it was hard to think around the pounding in his head and the pressure in his chest. Breathing had never been this difficult before, in his entire life. If Race had the energy, then he might be worried, but right now, everything just seemed distant, like it couldn’t possibly concern him right now. Breathing had to be his priority, even as the guards half dragged him out of Snyder’s office and down the hall.

No one would be looking for him, so Race knew that he’d have to figure out some way to take care of himself. Ideally, he’d figure out some way to break out of here before Spot or Jack or anyone else would even notice that he was missing in the first place. Knowing his luck, that wasn’t going to happen. Escaping had always been Jack’s thing, not Race’s. Race was good for a distraction or pissing people off, but right now, he felt like he wouldn’t be good at either thing. Because to talk, to curse out the guards and this place, he needed to actually feel like he was getting enough air into his lungs.

The guards didn’t seem bothered dragging a wheezing boy down the hall. Sure, Race knew that they were used to the beating up kids thing, probably liked it even, but wasn’t this a little bit too far? He thought so, but clearly they didn’t care.

Race couldn’t remember the last time he felt this awful. Even when he had gotten sick last winter, that was nothing compared to now. Sure, that one day he had tried to sell despite being sick and felt miserable, but at least then he had the newsies. Now, he was alone. No, even worse than that. There were others here, but no one who he could trust, no one for him to call brother.

It was him against whatever came next, but this was a fight Race wasn’t ready for.

The guards dumped him just inside the door, both men taking the opportunity to kick him one last time before they left, slamming the door behind them.

The fact that the boys in this room were still asleep struck Race as just how long this day was going to be. It hadn’t even started yet here, but Race just wanted it over with.

He tried to take stock of himself. This was the first moment that Race had had alone since the instances of early this morning, from the soaking of those Brooklyn boys to his actual soaking in the river to his arrest.

Geez, Race didn’t like the sound of that. But what was done, was done. And while Race would make sure that the responsible parties had to pay, he couldn’t change what had happened. Somehow, he had to move on, to figure out some way to actually take care of himself and make all the rest of these things better. And they would pay. That was a promise.

He didn’t find a bed. The last thing Race needed was to wake up a bunch of the boys here. Besides, it couldn’t be that much longer before they were all supposed to get up for the day. He crawled out of the way, so no one would step on him and he wouldn’t be an easy target for the guards. He had to protect himself.

Everything hurt to move, and Race could barely stifle a cough. He knew that he wasn’t in great shape, but that would have to be good enough. Every single part of his body felt weighed down, like he’d never be able to make it off the floor again.

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the room was brighter. That was fine. He was tired. It wasn’t a big deal that he had lost time like that.

Race wondered what his brothers were doing right now. Not looking for him, but if someone, anyone, could piece together what was going on, then that meant that everything was going to be okay.

Maybe that was selfish of him. Every time that any of the boys visited the Refuge, there was always the risk that they were going to get caught. Why would they even notice that Race was gone in the first place? And why would they risk themselves having to spend time in the Refuge in the first place.

The best thing that could happen would be if Race got out of here before anyone even had time to notice that he was gone. Logically, he knew that, but that didn’t mean that would happen, and that didn’t stop the fear.

Race didn’t like being afraid. He needed to ignore it, but that felt impossible. And he wasn’t just scared for him either. There was something going on, some reason he had been attacked. What if they staged a coup to overthrow Spot? Race couldn’t do anything while he was stuck in here. He hated not knowing what was going on, especially while he was in a place like this.

The guards banged on the door, the signal to get up. Race had to hold his chest, keeping a firm grip with one arm as he grasped a bedpost. He hadn’t been this injured in a long time. But no one cared about that. Somehow, he was just going to have to figure out a way to keep going.

Race tried his best to keep his head down the rest of the day, even as he coughed until he couldn’t breathe and his chest ached. It went against his very nature. He was supposed to be Racetrack Higgins, a boy who didn’t give a fuck about the guards, who would say whatever he thought, damn the consequences.

But he couldn’t afford to be that person, not while he ached and worried. He had no idea what was going on in the world of the newsies, but it had hit him- those boys had tried to kill him. Somehow, there was something going on and he had to make sure that Jack and Spot, at the very least, knew about it. He couldn’t figure out this conspiracy while he was locked away, even if the other side thought he was dead.

He was sick and hurting, but he had to know what was going on, had to let his boys know his side.

That night, Race lay in a bunk, staring up at the mattress above him, trying not to move and listen. But no one came to the window. He shouldn’t have hoped for anything. There were bigger problems going on, things he wasn’t even sure about, but he couldn’t do anything about them while he was stuck in the Refuge.

Race had never hated himself for not knowing how to break out of here so much before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to continue updating here on Sunday nights, but no promises since I am horrible at keeping consistent schedules at anything. The next chapter is probably going to be a Jack pov (though as I write that I desparately want to scrap the 600 words I have and make it Albert's). We'll see. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Even though Race pretended otherwise, he always told Jack the truth, or at least a version of it. He really didn’t want to think about what his little brother was getting up to with Spot Conlon in Brooklyn, so he just tried not to think about it.

That being said, he knew that Race was in Brooklyn, and besides that, he didn’t really worry about it. Spot would never let anything bad happen to Race.

Most of those nights, Race would make it back early, sometimes even before the rest of the boys were ready to go buy their papes. In a lot of ways, Race was irresponsible, but he knew Jack worried, and if there was one thing that Race could be relied on for, it was getting back in time.

Still, Jack didn’t worry, at least not more than normal, when Race didn’t make it to lodging before they left. It was a long walk from Brooklyn, and there could be any number of things delaying him. Race knew the business though, so Jack wasn’t worried. At least, not more than he was normally worried about his little brother. He didn’t think there were that many ways to get into trouble this early in the morning, but Race had proved him wrong before. He had a knack for trouble making, even unintentionally. But Race wasn’t a little kid anymore. He should be able to take care of himself.

When the group of newsies got closer and closer to the circulation gates, Jack half expected to see Racer leaning up against a building, smoking his cigar and waiting for them to pass by. But there was no sign of the boy anywhere.

He tried not to panic. Race would be here any moment, and would tease Jack for freaking out, even though they both knew why. It was a dangerous world out there, especially since they didn’t have anywhere else to go. Jack didn’t want to worry any of the other boys. Race’s lack of presence was obvious, but as long as Jack didn’t worry, then that meant no one else would either and that it all would be fine.

After he got his papes, he leaned against a wall, trying to read it but his focus was anywhere but the pages spread out in front of him. Race was just running late. And if he wasn’t, then that boy was going to have a lot to answer for. Not that Jack was freaking out. it was fine. He was just fine.

“Al,” he said, catching the redhead and pulling him over, even as he was sure some of the boys were waiting on him to go through the headlines. “You hear anythin’ ‘bout Racer?”

Albert just shrugged. “Over in Brooklyn last thing I’s heard. Dunno ‘bout why he’s so late. Want me or someone ta run over, ask what’s his problem.”

“Nah, just checkin’. I’s sure it ain’t nothin’ to worry about. You’s know how Racer can be,” Jack said, shaking his head even as the sentiment behind the words didn’t hold true.

“I’ll let yous know if I’s see ‘im.”

Selling papes that day wasn’t too hard, which was good considering that Jack’s head and heart weren’t in it. He didn’t want to risk running over to Brooklyn, especially if Race was already back. He had no idea what could have held the boy, but he wasn’t going to ask Spot about it. He didn’t think he wanted to hear the truth behind it, and Jack and Spot were never on the best of terms, going back forever. He especially didn’t want to react if Spot was being a dick and that’s why Race had never shown up to circulation, even though Jack had waited as long as he could before he had to hit the streets.

There were many worse case scenarios, but Jack didn’t want to think of what any of them were. He just needed to be patient. And if Race wasn’t at lodging by the time he got back, then he’d make sure the boy understood. He couldn’t just do that. Not just because he was the second of Manhattan, but also as their friend and brother. They needed to be able to ensure that all the others were kept safe, no matter the circumstances.

Race had a temper, but he’d know that he messed up. Probably wouldn’t complain more than a token amount. Jack would try not to yell, but as he got more and more worried and exasperated, he knew that might prove to be difficult. Yelling was bad in general in the newsboy lodging. Too many bad memories. There was always a lot of noise, as what comes with the territory with a bunch of boys, but everyone was well aware that negative yelling in particular was a bad plan.

But when Jack got back to lodging, Race wasn’t there. Most of the other boys were, and when Jack looked at Albert, the other boy just shook his bed. No sign of him.

He didn’t want to panic the rest of the boys, but at this point, what exactly was he supposed to do?

Jack walked towards the group of older boys that Race should be among, riling them up into a card game. “Meet me downstairs,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. None of the littles needed to be worried. Race wouldn’t want them getting worried about them, and there wasn’t really a safe way for them to get involved.

Once he reached the lobby, he turned around, waiting for the rest of the boys to get down there. “Ain’t none of yous seen Racer today, right?”

For a second, there was a flicker of hope before that too was extinguished along with the many shaking heads of the group. “A’ight. Anyone know where he’s might be?”

A lot of shrugs, a casual, “Brooklyn, maybe,” from Mush, and that was it.

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat. Just because he was worried was no reason to lose his head now. He was the leader, and as leader, they got their cues from him. Sure, there were plenty of reasons to be worried. Jack had thought of endless bad possibilities as to what was keeping Race and where he was, but he had to stay calm. “I’s need you’s all ta go look for him. Not in Brooklyn yet. If he’s in Brooklyn, Spot’ll take care of him. Just in ‘Hattan tonight, making sure he ain’t in trouble. If we’s still can’t find him, I’ll go ta Brooklyn tomorrow to talk to Spotty. But let’s find him tonight.”

A bunch of nods from grim, determined faces. Even though they weren’t showing it either, Jack was sure that all of them knew that the chances of this being not good were pretty high. But as long as none of them said anything about it, that kept those possibilities from becoming a more likely reality.

“I’s don’t wanna worry the littles or the other boys yet, so don’t say anythin’, a’ight? Don’t be gone too long.”

A chorus of agreement came from the group, before they set off, fracturing off into pairs or trios. It was too dangerous to wander the city by themselves at night. Jack just had to hope Race had the sense to not get himself caught in one of those situations.

Jack stood there for a moment, watching the boys go and hoping that upon their return, there would be one more to their number. They needed this. Jack needed Race.

He walked back up the stairs, looking over the remaining boys. Crutchie limped over to him.

Jack sighed, wrapping one arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. “Hey, Crutchie.”

Crutchie leaned in, leaning his head into Jack. “Is they looking for Race?”

“Yeah.”

“He’ll be fine. You know Racer. He’ll be back soon with a bunch of new stories to tell so you can tell him off for bein’ reckless.”

“I’s hope so, Crutch. I’s hope so.”

But later, as each boy pushed their way into lodging, alone without any sign of the other boy, Jack felt his heart drop more and more.

Tomorrow, he just had to hope Brooklyn would prove better. Race better be there, and Jack just hoped that everything there would be good news. A boy could dream at least.

Jack didn’t want to have to deal with Spot, but he’d put up with anything as long as Race was safe and found.


	5. Chapter 5

Race woke after his first day in the Refuge to the sound of thunder, echoing across the city.

For a second, he forgot where he was and what had happened, but he forced back into reality as he had another coughing fit.

He didn’t know how long he coughed, but it felt practically impossible to get back under control, as breathing got more and more difficult, like he would never catch his breath again. His chest hurt, causing sharp pains to shoot throughout the rest of his body.

Race just had to keep on ignoring this. He would be fine. He was probably just stressed out, and of course he was scared. He couldn’t let anything else bad happen to him.

It was still early, but with the dark storm clouds outside, it was difficult to gauge how long there was until the guards woke the boys up. Still, despite how exhausted and bone tired he felt, Race couldn’t imagine falling back asleep.

On a normal day, storms meant that he couldn’t leave whatever borough he was in at the time. The Brooklyn bridge was slippery, and it was dangerous to cross. Though, at this point, he’d already been in the East River and he survived that. More or less.

Now, the rain was just a reminder he wasn’t there. Some of the littles were afraid of thunder, and Race wasn’t there to have a boy crawl into his bed with fright. He also wasn’t in Brooklyn to wake up from the rain and get to curl against his boyfriend. Instead, he was lying awake in the Refuge, his skin painted with bruises as he coughed and coughed.

It wasn’t good, the coughing. Race knew that, but he was too tired to think about the consequences, about what something like that might mean.

The storms also meant that no one would cross the bridge. Normally, that wouldn’t matter for anyone except Race, and that still proved to be the case. Jack and the rest of Manhattan would figure he was with Spot. Sure, Jack might think something was off and be worried, but he worried about everything. That was normal. No one would figure out any of this was different. And Spot would think he was in Manhattan, where he was supposed to be right now.

Race allowed himself to feel sorry for himself for a moment. He deserved it, as if the pain in his chest wasn’t enough.

The boy started coughing again, deep coughs emerging all the way from his chest. Some stuff came out, which was just nasty. He tried to ignore it. He didn’t need to think about this stuff right now. There was so much going on, but he just had to find his own way to keep dealing with it. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought or did. The only thing he could do was take care of himself, no matter how impossible that felt right now. He could barely breathe. How was he supposed to protect himself? Race had always used his words as weapons, but he couldn’t do that now. He didn’t have many other options left. He just had to figure out some way to do the next right thing, no matter what.

The Refuge was mostly quiet, besides the soft snores and other noises of the sleeping boys surrounding him in the room. The rain echoed as it hit the roof, the occasional thunder rumbling through the sky.

Carefully, using the bed frame for support, Race managed to drag himself upwards until he was shakily standing. He didn’t want to take the risk of falling, but he couldn’t just do nothing, even though this probably qualified. Still, he was restless, even with the pains and soreness centered in his chest.

He tried to stay quiet as he dragged himself to the window. Race didn’t want to wake any of the other boys. One of the worst things you could do in the Refuge was make enemies of the other boys. They were all in this hell together, and there was nothing else that could be done about it. They had to stay on the same side against the guards, to keep their heads down and avoid making themselves into a target. Sure, it wasn’t fair that had to be done, but they didn’t make the rules.

Race wanted to open the window, to smell the rain and fresh air, or at least as fresh as the air got in New York City. Sure, he slept in a room surrounded by other boys every night as a newsie, but he didn’t feel alone there. That was his family. Here, it was just his fellow victims.

So instead of opening the window, Race stared out. The view wasn’t much, but it was something. Sure, he was trapped within these walls, but there was a whole other world out there, one waiting for him to go back out in it. This stuff sucked, but he’d figure something else out. He was Racetrack Higgins. Sure, that meant nothing in here, but there were people out there who cared about him.

Sure, none of them had any idea that he was in danger, or at least what danger he was in. He had to believe that. The Refuge had a way of destroying your world. The guards’ words only stung at first, but it was impossible to not absorb them, to let them hurt you even more than their fists did.

Race turned, taking in the sleeping figures in their beds. He didn’t recognize anyone yesterday, which was probably good since it meant that no one he knew was trapped in here as well, but he was just so lonely. He couldn’t sleep, but he was too tired and sore to try to make any type of effort with anyone. But he shouldn’t want to make anyone go through this with him, just to make him slightly less uncomfortable. That just wasn’t fair.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember what exactly had gone down on that bridge, but their faces were hard to recall. He felt awful, and he was scared of what all that meant, but he had to make sure that Spot would be safe, no matter what that would take. He didn’t know why he was jumped, but he doubted that was anything good for Spot. They had tried to kill Race, and everyone knew that they were close. Maybe they wanted him focused on other things. Race didn’t know, but he needed Spot to watch himself.

Race limped back over to the bunk that he was reluctant to call his own. He didn’t want to have to stay here long enough to have his own bunk. One hand pressed into his side to brace his ribs, he found the piece of paper he had squirreled away earlier, as well as a dull pencil. It wasn’t much, but it had to be good enough.

He was scared, but he had to do what needed to be done.

It was even harder making it back to the window. The rain had died down, and while he didn’t trust opening the window without waking everyone out, there was just enough light to make out the shapes of his paper and the pencil. He couldn’t see well, but this was just going to have to be enough.

Race didn’t know what to write. He didn’t know if he’d be able to make it to the window by the time his boys finally realized he was in here. That could be weeks from now, depending how flooded the East River was and how long it kept raining. Race knew at some point he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut and he could be thrown into the basement for extra punishment. 

There was also the possibility that he’d be too sick or injured to move to the window, but he didn’t want to think about that, not while his breathing was labored and his chest throbbed.

They had to know what had happened. He would not be a lost boy, one who they never found out what happened to him. Race refused. One way or another, he’d be able to make something of himself.

Race wasn’t one to think of the dreadful things that could happen, but in a place like the Refuge, there wasn’t anything else to think of. He couldn’t give up. There were people out there who needed to know what had happened. He might not be able to figure out what it all meant, but he was sure that Jack or Specs or one of the other boys would have the key piece to putting it together.

So Race wrote. He had to believe that his words mattered.

Sure, he left a lot out, like how he still felt like he had half the East River in his chest, or how scared he was. That wouldn’t help. Jack would know anyway. Jack knew him too well, but with all the questions in the air, Race knew they couldn’t afford for Jack to worry.

He had to get the words done while he still remembered, before the last bits of what his attackers looked like and sounded like left him.

Taking one last look behind him, Race slowly cracked the window open, sliding his letter through the small gap before closing it, so the note was stuck there.

He had to believe that the Manhattan newsies could find it before it was too late.


	6. Chapter 6

Spot scowled as he stomped up the stairs from the lobby of lodging. Sometimes, his boys were just such idiots.

Behind him, he heard Sax, talking to the boys in a voice just too loud that it had to be intentional that Spot could still hear him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it too much boys. Spotty just needs to get laid.”

At that, Spot almost turned around to give Sax a piece of his mind, but he stopped himself, his grip turning white on the banister the only sign of his discomfort with the situation. Nothing he said would make Sax stop. In fact, it’d likely make him continue thinking he was right.

And maybe the other boy had a little bit of a point. Spot was in a foul mood. He didn’t think he needed to be laid, but it would certainly help things if he actually was able to see his boyfriend.

He knew that he and Race were both busy with responsibilities in their respective boroughs, but at this point, the situation was becoming ridiculous. On the last day he had seen Race, Spot hadn’t expected to see the other boy for a few days, but between the rain and the fact that his boys wouldn’t stop being dumbasses, it had felt like forever. He hadn’t had the time to look at Sheepshead, but that wasn’t really a concern, considering the flooding. Race would show up at Brooklyn lodging weeks before Spot would head to Manhattan. It had been dangerous to cross, but Race would come over before Spot went seeking him out. Spot Conlon would totally win in the battle of endurance. 

So yeah, maybe he missed his boyfriend, and that was setting him on edge. They just weren’t meant to be away from each other for this long. That wasn’t how their story was supposed to go.

The last night Race had spent with Spot, besides being nearly perfect, had been over a week ago. Even though they didn’t live in the same borough, Spot could hardly remember the last time he went that long without seeing the other boy, even just for a few minutes. He couldn’t stand it, not that he’d admit that to anyone.

He wasn’t worried though. He was the king of Brooklyn. Spot Conlon didn’t get worried. Still, he knew he’d feel a lot better once he could actually see Racer. Which hopefully should be soon.

The water level of the East River was declining from the flood, and should be safe to cross any time now. It wasn’t the worst flood Spot had seen, but about anything could make the bridge dangerous to cross. Race could be very impulsive sometimes, but he wouldn’t put his life in danger to come visit Spot. Not only would that piss Spot off, but he was pretty sure some of the ‘Hattan boys would kill him for being so reckless.

But the fact that it was declining, that had to be a good thing. As long as the storms didn’t come back in full force, Race should be back in Brooklyn any day now. And Spot was more than willing to wait for it.

For the moment, Spot allowed himself to not do much of anything. He wasn’t going to apologize to his boys. Sure, he may have been a little harsh, but they shouldn’t have been so dumb and reckless in the first place. That was a lesson that they had to learn. It was dangerous to be a newsie.

He had a lot to think about and decide as the king of Brooklyn, but he wanted a moment’s peace. Most of the time, he got that when Race was here. Maybe that was part of the reason he had been so on edge, without having that time set aside to relax in the company of his boyfriend.

When he heard loud footsteps clomping up the stairs, Spot rolled his eyes before schooling his face into a more neutral expression. He was sure that it was just someone else doing something stupid. They had plenty of that going on, considering the size and force of the Brooklyn newsies.

He turned around to find Niner was standing at the top of the stairs, his face inscrutable, not giving anything away. “You need to come downstairs.”

Niner didn’t say anything else, but it wasn’t like the boy had a lot to say even in the best of circumstances. Spot nodded, keeping his expression calm. Niner was acting serious, but he was sure that it wasn’t that big of a deal. Probably just some boys acting out again.

Spot walked down the stairs, unsure of what exactly he would find at the bottom. It was late afternoon, early evening, so while newsies were starting to return from their day selling, most of them still weren’t back yet. That being said, of all of those that were back, they were all staring at the door and the figures that stood there.

There were two people there, and it was only slightly a relief that they were kids. Nothing good could come out of adults coming to Brooklyn lodging. As Spot walked closer, he recognized them as Manhattan newsies, both familiar. He kept walking towards them, the sense of dread growing in his heart. Neither of them were Race, and there weren’t very many reasons Spot could think of why someone from ‘Hattan would set foot in his lodging without Racetrack along with them. Almost all of them spelled bad news.

Spot spit in his hand, holding it out to the boys, who returned the gesture in kind. “Boys, let’s move where there ain’t so many eyes and ears.”

The two boys nodded, stepping aside to turn and follow Spot as he made his way out of Brooklyn lodging. No one else followed. Spot could take care of himself if things got violent. He was also pretty sure that his other boys in charge had an idea what this could be about as well, and knew that Spot wouldn’t want anyone to bear witness if that were the case.

He didn’t look back at the pair following him. There wasn’t really a point. This was happening whether he wanted it to or not.

Spot didn’t know if it was a good thing or not that Jack Kelly hadn’t come over. It was bad that Race wasn’t here simply because Spot wanted to see the other boy, though he was sure there were other implications there, things he didn’t even want to think about. Race was his own person, but they always came together. The fact that Spot was seeing other Manhattan boys before Race after the flood... he wasn’t sure what it meant, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t like it.

It was far too self-absorbed, even for Spot, but part of him worried that Race was mad at him, for reasons that Spot couldn’t be sure of. Why wouldn’t Race had come to Brooklyn? It could be nothing, but the fear was that this could always be something.

He led them to the docks, near the bridge, before spinning around to face the pair. They wouldn’t have to go far to get back to Manhattan. Spot crossed his eyes and glared, raising one eyebrow. He knew he was in a bad mood, but he didn’t feel compelled to put the fidgeting pair at ease. It would help his reputation at least. Race always liked his posturing return. But even though these boys were from Race’s borough, Spot couldn’t afford to think of his boyfriend now.

One of the boys elbowed the other in the side, causing an involuntary yelp to escape him. Neither boy would meet Spot’s eyes, which he was used to. “Um, so, uh...” the second boy said, tripping and stumbling as he tried to find the words for whatever was going on.

The first one ended up interrupting, speaking way too fast as the words spilled out of his mouth in one short breath. “Is Race in Brooklyn?”

Spot refused to react in any physical way that these boys could see. He wanted to answer, but his words seemed to have failed him. So instead, he just shook his head.

The second boy swallowed hard. “That’s what we was afraid of. We ain’t seen him since two days before the flood.”

Spot did the math in his head before responding. He knew his words were coming out strangled. There wasn’t any way the boys couldn’t see how he was reacting, but there were more important things going on right now. “He was in Brooklyn the night before the flood, but left early in the mornin’. Ain’t seen him since.”

The two boys exchanged a look, looking about as worried as Spot felt, something large and growing in the pit of his stomach. “Where is he then?” one boy asked, his voice small.

Spot didn’t have an answer, and that scared him.


	7. Chapter 7

If he could, Jack would be out there searching the streets, hoping for any sign of the boy he called brother.

But that just wasn’t reasonable. He was the leader of Manhattan, and while most of the time that wasn’t a problem, it certainly was now. Not everyone could be out searching.

If this had happened before he took over, he probably would have searched from the first night they couldn’t find Race and would have kept searching until he found the boy. Of course, that would have caused more stress to anyone else involved. He was more mature now, but that didn’t lessen the fear inside him.

As much as he wanted to be out there searching for Race, the rest of the newsies needed him here. Most of the older boys were out searching on their own, but Jack was responsible for all of them. That included Race, but that didn’t mean that he could shirk all of his other responsibilities in the search.

He hated the inaction, but he had to believe that Race was fine. Jack would be pissed if Race was fine and had just never come back, but that was far superior to any of the alternatives. There weren’t many positive things that could have stopped Race from coming back.

Jack had to believe that he would know if Race was dead. Was there really anything that could kill the boy? Obviously not. He was fine, safe, somewhere. Ideally in Brooklyn. He might not get along with Spot Conlon, but he knew that Spot would never do anything to intentionally hurt Race.

Now that the flooding was down, some of the boys went to go search Brooklyn. It definitely wasn’t safe to trespass in the other newsies’ turf, but Race was the priority. They were fairly confident he wasn’t still in Manhattan. It was hard to tell if he had hidden at some point and moved on, but it had been a week of searching and hoping, and yet there was no sign of him. Brooklyn was the logical next choice he’d be.

He hadn’t actually seen the boys that were heading across the bridge since that morning at circulation. It was a long walk, so they had agreed to leave as soon as they finished selling for the day. The five boys were some of the closest to Race, and Hack knew that they would let no stone go unturned in their search- from Sheepshead to Brooklyn lodging.

Now, all he could do was wait for what would hopefully be some good news.

Jack stayed up in his penthouse. He needed to be here in case there were any emergencies, but that didn’t make the wait any easier. If things went well, a group of six would return and Jack could hug his little brother. Race would know how scared Jack had been, and even though there would be a few sarcastic comments, he’d hug back. Things would be set back right, to how all of this was supposed to be. Race would tell where he had been with a laugh and many jokes, and things would be normal again. He would always worry about the safety of his boys, but it was so much easier when they were actually around to verify their safety.

He stared off towards the south, the street that was the fastest from the Brooklyn Bridge, searching for the familiar figures, hoping for six but afraid of the more likely five.

The city was growing darker, but that didn’t stop his frantic search. He had a piece of paper and a pencil in his lap, but the page remained blank.

Part of him wanted to go down into lodging and bring Crutchie up to wait with him, but he resisted the urge. Even though he knew Crutchie was worrying about Racer and the rest of the Manhattan newsies, Jack just wanted to be alone right now. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to see how anxious Jack was. He was supposed to be brave, but right now, Jack was feeling anything but.

Every appearance of people in the street caused an unnecessary leap in Jack’s chest, before recognizing that those weren’t the boys he was looking for. He wondered if it would have been better if he had gone to Brooklyn with him, to figure out if Racetrack was there a few minutes earlier. But if he wasn’t, then at least Jack could onto the idea for a few more minutes that Race was safe, even if foolish for not communicating this with them even earlier.

When another group of pedestrians appeared, Jack braced himself for the inevitable disappointment of waiting even longer without knowing, but when he recognized the front boy’s red hair, Jack leapt to his feet, moving towards the ladder before he could fully comprehend what he saw. Then Jack froze, turning back around and counting the figures.

Six. There were six.

The rush of relief that passed through Jack was unlike anything he had every experienced before. Six! He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this happy about something. Maybe it was sad, the thing to be so joyous about being that his brother wasn’t dead and was back, but that didn’t matter. This was his life, and he was living it, no matter what else happened.

When Jack got down, he almost tripped over Crutchie. The younger boy must have been waiting for him, wondering if he should come wait for their arrival with Jack. “Six boys, comin’ this way,” Jack said, watching as Crutchie’s face broke into a grin.

“Let’s go meet them,” the younger boy said, leading in his uneven gait, Jack hot on his heels.

They made it down the stairs, other boys flooding behind them, laughing. The news that six boys had returned from the five who had been to Brooklyn had instantaneously lightened the mood. When a boy goes missing or dies, it doesn’t matter how well the remaining newsies knew or liked them, because no matter what, it’s hard. It’s a grim reminder of what could happen to any of them. No one should have to die, and everyone should be remembered, no matter who they are, orphans and runaways included.

The door opened, and Kid Blink made a beeline to Jack, pausing at the surrounding celebration before continuing. “Jack,” he said urgently, trying to raise his voice to be heard despite the noise of the surrounding boys. “We went to Brooklyn and he ain’t there!”

Jack frowned. “Whatcha mean, he ain’t there? I’s seen six come back. If not Racer, then-“

He cut himself off at the entrance of the rest of the boys. Four of them his own, and the last being Spot Conlon. He could feel the hope that had blossomed drowning in the pit of his stomach. “Get the rest of the boys upstairs,” he hissed at Blink, not waiting before heading over to Spot.

Jack glared at the shorter boy, crossing his arms over his chest. “Spot.”

Spot glared back. “Kelly.”

The Manhattan leader waited for the rest of the footsteps stomping up the stairs to fade away before pressing on. “Racer?”

Spot shook his head. “I ain’t got any clue. Didn’t even know he was missing ‘til your boys came over today. The night before the flood? He was in Brooklyn. Then I’s seen him off before circulation the next morning.”

Jack nodded, biting his lip and closing his eyes for a moment to gain his composure. He didn’t want to show any weakness in front of the king of the Brooklyn newsies, but this was Race they were talking about. Nothing about that would ever be easy.

“He ain’t come back from that. We’s searched all of ‘Hattan, but there ain’t a sign of ‘im.”

Spot nodded, his face drawn. Jack felt sympathy for the other boy. It must be hard, realizing that someone you loved was missing for a week but not having any idea of the danger.

Albert coughed from beside the two boys, drawing their attention. “What’s next?”

“We figure it out. Race didn’t just disappear. He’s somewhere, and we is gonna find out where. Whatever it takes.”

Jack felt less confident than his words, but he had to believe that, no matter how much he had to force himself. They would find Race. He was strong and stubborn, and there was no way he would let something take the best of him. He was out there somewhere, probably working to get back himself. They just had to figure out what had happened.

Spot spoke up. “He definitely left Brooklyn, but he never made it back to yous circulation, right? So we’s gotta walk his steps. Figure out what could have happened to get him of course.”

The Manhattan boys all nodded, their faces set in determination, and Jack felt a spark at pride. They would protect each other, and Race, wherever he was.

Jack just had to hope that they could find him, and before they got there, that Race would take care of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were supposed to head to the Refuge at the end of this chapter. Oops.
> 
> I've (surprisingly) been good about updating Sunday nights, but that's going to change for the next two weeks because life. If I get my shit together, I'll post a chapter this Saturday, but I have no clue if that's feasible. The week after that, if I have my shit together I'll update on time, but that is even less likely. Just be glad I didn't leave this chapter on a major cliffhanger since the chances of me having my shit together to post before August is slim to none.


	8. Chapter 8

It was late. Spot hated the idea of Race spending another night alone somewhere in the city, but he didn’t have a choice. What was one more night, at this point? Because Race had been missing for a week, and Spot hadn’t known. Any signs of him would be gone by now.

He didn’t blame the ‘Hattan kids for that. He blamed himself. Spot should have known better. He should have done something, figured it out. But there was no changing the past, no matter how much he wanted to. All that Spot could do now was try to find Race wherever the other boy was now.

Because Race wouldn’t have run off intentionally. Spot knew that, which meant that he wouldn’t have gone willingly. Something had stopped him, and Spot was (not afraid) going to find whatever it was and take it down. Then he’d find Racer and-

Spot shut down that train of thought. This wasn’t a fairy tale. There weren’t happy endings. He needed Race to be safe, but that didn’t mean that he was. It was a dangerous world, especially for a lost teen with no family or anyone else searching for him except for a bunch of orphans and runaways.

Spot would find out whatever had gone down, and he would do something about it, but he had to be realistic. He hoped Race was alive, that he was safe and not hurt, but if whatever he wanted came true, then Race wouldn’t have been missing. These things just didn’t come true. That wasn’t how the world worked, especially not their world. So it might not be fair or pleasant or what Spot wanted to happen, but this just had to be good enough.

He needed to remember Brooklyn. Logically, Spot knew that as king of the Brooklyn newsies, his priorities were supposed to lie with them, but Spot would pick Racer every single time, regardless of the rest of this crap. It was necessary, and that was enough. Screw what anyone else had to say about the whole thing. Race had to be in some sort of trouble, and Spot would fix it. He had to be able to fix it.

He may have already messed that up, but he couldn’t give up. He refused to give up. Somehow, he would fix this.

That all started with figuring out what happened, but as much as Spot just wanted to throw himself into the search, most clues would be gone after the week of heavy rain. They had to be smart about this. He had to be smart about this. Which was easier said than done and went against everything that his instincts were telling him to do, but nothing else could be an option, not anymore.

Race was smart. He could handle himself. Spot had always believed that, but now, how could he still claim that to be true, at least in the present circumstances. Obviously he trusted Race, but if everything was okay, then Race would already be back, would never have been gone in the first place.

He was heading back to Brooklyn now, his feet knowing the path he had to go. He had walked it so many times, but usually, Race was at his side while he did so. He knew this city and obviously he was aware of the many dangers that could be found here, but Spot had never been so aware as he was now. Race was brave and smart and Spot didn’t want to imply that he didn’t trust the boy, but it was hard to think of anything else while Race wasn’t here. There was nowhere else to go.

The next morning, he’d scour over Brooklyn, getting up around the time Race had that morning to see what he would have passed. Spot would walk the length of the city if that meant he’d be able to find him. He couldn’t have just disappeared. Sure, it was early, but someone would have had to see him, right? And tomorrow, Spot had to figure out what.

He didn’t deserve Race. What kind of person didn’t even realize that their boyfriend was missing? But right now, that wasn’t what mattered. No matter what, he had to do better than that.

Jack and his boys would search the Manhattan side early in the morning, for any sign of Racer. There had to be something. If they didn’t find anything, well, he didn’t know what he’d do next.

Brooklyn Lodging came into view, but before Spot could approach, he was distracted by a small figure sitting in the alley. He frowned. “Fish?”

The younger boy’s head snapped up. He yawned. “Hey, Spot.”

“Fish, what yous doin’ out here. It’s too late for this.”

Fish scrambled upwards. “No, I’s know but I had to talk to yous- before you got back to lodging. Because Racetrack is gone, right?”

Spot frowned. “There’s no way you could have known that.”

The younger boy shuffled his feet as he threw up his arms defensively. “Look, I’s didn’t do anything. But I’s heard some of the older boys talkin’ and me thinks that had somethin’ to do with it. ‘Cause they don’t know either, right? Yous didn’t tell anyone.”

Spot nodded. “Alright. So, what was they sayin’?”

“Nothin’ specific. Just vague stuff. ‘Bout how he distracts you. They don’t know about, well-“ Fish broke off as he began gesturing wildly with his arms, almost managing to smack himself in the face.

Spot closed his eyes and took a deep breath that he exhaled heavily out of his nose. “Yes, Fish. Me and Race are like that. But that ain’t what matters now. What’d they say ‘bout Racer?”

“Just stuff. They weren’t real specific. Me thinks they knew I was listening, and maybe some of the other boys was too. Though I’s never would have eavesdropped ‘cept I heard them say Racer’s name and Niner said you had left and Stringer said he saw some ‘Hattan boys in our turf. And Sax says that- well, I’s sure yous know what Sax has ta say about Racer bein’ not here.”

Sometimes, Spot forgot about how impossible it was to get a straight answer out of the younger boy.

“Focus. Racer. You’s heard somethin’, else yous wouldn’t have felt the need ta come wait for me.”

Fish nodded. “Yeah, right. I’s not sure of the details, but I’s pretty sure theys threatened Race ta stay out of Brooklyn. That at least. It was those boys though- yous know, like Flick and Trey and them, so me thinks... well, you know Flick.”

Spot started stalking towards lodging, Fish hot on his heels. Oh, Spot knew all about Flick. The asshole. He had always been power hungry. Spot had been counting down the days until he left the newsies. He couldn’t stand Flick when Spot was eleven and Flick had joined the newsies. He couldn’t stand the other boy when Spot had become king of Brooklyn. And now, well, it was Racer. That was enough said. Brooklyn boys talked with their fists, and they had it coming.

Of course, that didn’t solve the issue of where Race was now. But it was establishing a timeline. And even if Race was found back in Manhattan safe and sound, they would still have to pay for whatever they had done to the other boy. The fact that Spot didn’t know, well, that was just going to make it worse for them.

Spot continued his stalk into lodging. As soon as he stepped inside the door, all eyes were on him. He could hear Fish behind him. Fish was a good kid. Maybe Spot should avoid his involvement in all of this, but he wasn’t going to stop anything.

“Niner!” he called, jerking his head towards the stairs as he moved.

He wanted to lash out, to give Flick a swift punch to his cocky face, but Spot was the king of Brooklyn. He couldn’t just attack one of his boys, no matter how much he wanted to. They would have expected that. He had to be smart about this. Maybe that wasn’t something a good boyfriend would do, but he couldn’t just be Race’s boyfriend right now. He had to be in charge and that meant not lashing out. If Flick really had attacked Race, they could do something about that, especially if it was in a desperate attempt for control.

Spot didn’t let himself look at the boys he suspected were involved- Flick’s general crew. This was and wasn’t about them. If they wanted to make their bed like this, then they could go ahead and lie in it. He didn’t give a fuck.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He did care. And that’s why he had to be so careful. Sure, they were all a group of assholes, but they were a part of Brooklyn. They would have known that attacking Race would influence Spot. So what was their endgame?

Spot sat on his bunk, Niner standing just a few feet away from him. It was time to plan. Not just about how to find Race and making a timeline for his disappearance. Not just figuring out how exactly Flick and his crew were involved. It was time to plan for Brooklyn newsies. There was something going on here, and there was no way Spot would let himself underestimate them. He had to protect everyone- from Race to the littles to his brothers like Niner and Fish and even Sax.

Pieces were coming together, and Spot would take it all down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back to posting weekly again. Thanks for not giving up on this fic yet. I think I'm going to write a Race pov next but that could change. I still have no concept of how long this is going to be, but we're definitely getting closer.


	9. Chapter 9

Race wheezed in a breath as he kept coughing. The cough was all too familiar. A part of him felt like it would never go away, that this cough would be all that was left of him.

It had been a week since Race had been thrown in the river and subsequently arrested. It felt like they had left him here for eternity.

Whenever any of their boys had been carted off to the Refuge, someone would have always come. But not for Race. Logically, he knew that the rain may have flooded the bridge, but still. His brain was foggy, and it was hard to think, but that didn’t make the feelings of betrayal any easier. Because that was exactly what this was- betrayal. They had written Racetrack Higgins off, decided he didn’t matter anymore. It might not have been intentional, but that didn’t change the facts of his story. The story he was terrified was coming to a close.

Race was glad he had written the note. He didn’t know if anyone had come by and retrieved it because it was too hard to move to the window, his ribs aching and his legs acting like they had never had to hold him up before. But it gave a chance of letting his brothers know what had become of him. He was Racetrack Higgins. He wasn’t supposed to go quietly, without anyone knowing what happened of it, but it wasn’t as if he was given a choice on the matter.

None of this was fair, but life never was. This was simply how things were, with no way to get out.

Race knew he wasn’t going to be able to escape. He never had been able to, even when he was in the best of health. And right now, with his coughing and dizziness and just overall exhaustion, that definitely didn’t count as being in good health. And he wasn’t supposed to be released anytime soon. Snyder always made excuses to keep the boys as long as possible. And Race was just so tired of fighting, of absolutely everything.

No one cared here. Race tried not to think about it. It wasn’t as if anyone out there, in the world outside of this place that got harder and harder to remember, could care that much otherwise they would be here with him.

Race hated how selfish he was being right now, but none of this stuff was fair. This wasn’t supposed to be the way that his story was going to end. But with each passing day, as he got sicker and sicker waiting for someone, anyone, to notice, the fact that he was gone and to at least come so he could say his goodbyes.

But that was selfish, wasn’t it? No one ever wanted to say goodbye. Race just wanted someone to listen to him, so he could talk and make sure that at least someone was going to pay attention to the fact that he was gone. He shouldn’t want this attention so badly. It just wasn’t right. People deserved more than that.

Race coughed again. It was so gross to listen to, but it wasn’t as if he had any better choices. This just was the way that things were now. Because the world didn’t care about what was fair or what was right. It didn’t matter what was supposed to be.

He didn’t want to die, but he was afraid that wasn’t going to be his choice.

Would anyone even notice he was gone before he died?

Race didn’t even know what the crueler choice would be. He didn’t want to die in here. He didn’t want to die alone.

The whole thing was about more than he could take, but that was just going to have to be enough. All of this stuff going on, it just wasn’t up to him, not anymore.

That didn’t want to make him dwell on those facts anymore.

Race couldn’t change the fact that he was on edge. Who wouldn’t be? He was sick and scared and all alone in a place that he had nightmares about. He was alone, which was both a blessing and a curse, but on some level, it wasn’t as if all of that stuff even mattered. No matter what Race tried to do about any of it, it was still happening anyway. There wasn’t anything that Race could do to change his situation.

Race didn’t do sick well. He never had, but that was made so much worse than right now. He doubted that anyone would do sick well in the Refuge. Right now, all that Race wanted to do was curl up alone under some blankets, except maybe unless Spot or one of his closest brothers was there. Jack would worry. Race wondered if Jack was worried now, or if he had just put his disappearance down to another Race thing that Jack just couldn’t understand.

That was unfair to Jack, but right now, that didn’t exactly bother Race. Everything was just so overwhelming. Jack would notice that he was missing, eventually. He always had before. Every time that Race made a mistake, Jack came through for him. It didn’t matter how stupid Race was being at the time- if he had sneaked into Brooklyn to watch the races and got into a screaming argument with the king of the Brooklyn newsies, or if he had gambled his money for lodging and food away. Jack might roll his eyes, but he had always come through for Race, sometimes even before Race realized that he needed the help.

Of course, there had to be a first time for everything. Race was just hoping that this wasn’t the first time Jack let him down, since it might be the last.

Race halted another wheezing breath. He felt so bad, like he never wanted to move again. The fact that he had to didn’t make things better. His clothes were at least dry, which was more than he could have said after he had struggled out of the river.

Still, it was hard to stumble out of the bunk and follow the rest of the boys down to get food, even as the staircase swayed under his feet. He gripped the handrail like a lifeline. Falling down the stairs would just hurt even more. He also wanted to keep some level of dignity left, just in case. Because if things went south, he wanted his brothers and friends to not know the truth. Heck, he didn’t want them to know the truth about him either way. It was too late for things to change. Race was already down this path.

Most of the other boys just flat out ignored him, which was probably best. Race didn’t need to say the wrong thing and get even more enemies in here. The guards were already out to get them- they didn’t need to turn on each other on top of that. It was the safe things to do, and while Race may not be known for doing the smart thing, he was just too tired to even try to do anything else.

The world was still moving. Logically, Race knew that, but in here, each day felt identical to the next, even as he felt more exhausted as each day dragged by, blending in to one another. Time in here was meaningless. But especially as he dreamed of what was going on in the streets of New York with his family, that made it even harder to attempt to make sense of everything. He just had to hope that one of the newsies would get his note before things were too late and have enough knowledge to ensure that everything else was going to be alright. While Race was stuck in here, he had no way of knowing, but he had to believe. Hope and dreams were all that remained in the Refuge.

He was still sore all over. The kicks from those Brooklyn boys had painted his ribs in bright colors. He had trouble telling whether he broke them, especially as his lungs still throbbed as he wheezed with every single breath. He should know how to tell, but it was like stumbling through a fog. His head was definitely messed up. None of this was right, but there just wasn’t anything that Race could do about that now, other than survive. He still wasn’t sure whether that would be possible.

Race couldn’t imagine never seeing Spot again, never kissing his soft lips, never being able to tell him Race loved him. But even though anything was possible, Race was sure that the possibilities weren’t anywhere good. That wasn’t fair, but neither was anything else in this life. The newsies were a ragged army and none of them could ever get exactly what they wanted. Things might be due for a change, but it was looking like Race wouldn’t be around to see it.

Another boy jostled into him, hard, breaking Race from his thoughts as he stumbled. Unable to keep his balance, Race missed the next stair and jolted as pain raced up from his foot. He was lucky to catch himself. Race didn’t need any more head trauma than he already had- from now in the Refuge and back on the bridge, but also from all the times in the past that his head always ended up suffering for.

He stumbled down the last few steps towards the cafeteria, barely keeping his eyes focused on his path. Though, he clearly ended up missing something, as he collided into a guard.

Race couldn’t remember what happened next, only flashes. A fist hitting his face, the flash of pain exploding from his cheekbone. Hitting the ground hard, his already bad ribs ratcheting up the pain. Gasping and choking as a hand dragged him up by his collar. Pain, new and old, flaring up as more bruises were added to his giant collection. A boot swinging towards his face, a loud crunch, and then nothing.

Later that night, Race stared up at the bunk above him, unable to sleep and hardly able to move. If he closed his eyes, would he ever open them again? Race didn’t know, but he was just so tired. Even as it was, he could hardly make out the slats in the bunk above him through the darkness and his swollen eyes. What he could see wasn’t staying still, which Race was pretty sure was a bad sign.

He thought he heard a tap on the window, but even if that was his boys, it was far too late for Race to do anything about it. There was no way he could walk, not anymore. Even crawling seemed insurmountable right now. He was too sore, too sick, and he was afraid it was too late for any of this. He just had to hope that his note was still there, and that everyone else was going to be okay. It might be too late for him, but Spot and Jack and Albert and Crutchie and all the other boys Race knew, loved, and called brother deserved their own chance. The tapping happened again, but Race didn’t move.

His eyes slipped shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this has taken forever! I had it written later than I wanted to post it but I wasn't happy with it and ended up adding a lot which I didn't have the time to do. No clue when the next chapter will be up, but I'm aiming for a time between next week and the end of the month. At least there's some Race whump in here. Angsty Spot coming up next.


	10. Chapter 10

Jack paced back and forth on the rooftop that was sometimes his paradise, but was anything but right now. Sure, it was a great place for dreaming, but now wasn’t the time for such things. Maybe if Jack hadn’t been lost in his own head, he actually would have figured out that Race was in trouble, instead of just living it up across the bridge.

He didn’t even know what the problem with him was, but he had definitely messed up. He was just so scared. Race was his little brother, through and through, and he had no idea how he was supposed to deal with any of this. Because what if Race wasn’t going to be okay?

They had been through so much together, all the newsies, but with Jack at the front and Race at his right hand. And now, there was the possibility that none of this stuff was ever going to happen ever again. But Race was going to have to be okay. He just had to. Jack didn’t know what he’d do otherwise. This was all that he still had left, and it was way too much to even try to consider. There was no way that Jack could handle the alternatives.

It was always a bad day when the most ideal situation meant that one of their boys was stuck in the Refuge. But right now, that was all that Jack could hope for because if he could find Race there, then at least he’d know that his little brother was alive and be able to start planning. It was impossible to plan when there was no concept of anything that was going on. So much of this stuff was just so hard, but Race was going to have to be fine. Jack had to believe that, and then maybe it was going to come true.

He took another deep breath before climbing down the fire escape. Now was not the time to waste anymore time. Postponing the inevitable was not going to change any of this. Race was either there, or he wasn’t, and nothing was ever going to change that. He had to keep going on, despite how horrible all of these things could happen. But whatever tragedy had occurred, it was already far too late for Jack to do anything about it.

He might be too late to be able to save his little brother already, but he couldn’t fix the mistakes of his past. If there was any chance to rescue Race, then Jack needed to hurry, to get him back home to safety and lodging as soon as possible. But he was just so scared.

It was so overwhelming, but Jack Kelly couldn’t afford to lose it now.

He was Jack Kelly, the leader of Manhattan, and all of his boys needed him right now, not just Race. They were a family, all of them.

So as Jack climbed down the fire escape, he tried to put on a brave face, to protect the rest of his boys. They didn’t need to know how scared he was that things might not be okay. As long as they still had hope, then at least that was something.

Once he made it back into the main part of lodging, Crutchie was at his side in a moment. “Jack,” he said, and Jack barely managed to not lose it again in that moment.

“Ya ain’t comin’ with us, Crutch.”

“But Jack, it’s-“

“I know. But I need you here. It’s a big risk, and there’s no way you’re getting close to that place.”

His voice may have cracked, but Jack chose to ignore it, as he just kept on moving. He could feel all eyes glued to him, and Jack forced himself to keep his shoulders squared, to project confidence that he most definitely wasn’t feeling right now. But that was fine. He didn’t need to. Race was going to be fine, after all.

A few of the other older boys got up, making their own ways over to Jack. Jack looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. This wasn’t an option. He was going to lose it. Sure, Jack knew that he wasn’t alone in his feelings, not about Race, but maybe right now, he wanted to be alone, wanted it to hurt. Jack had messed up so badly, and his mistake may have lost the life of one of his best friends and brothers.

Jack jerked his head towards the door, walking towards it with purpose. He couldn’t put this off anymore. Later, there would be time to scream and rage and cry, but right now, this was the best thing for him to do. There was nothing else out there that was going to be able to fix any of this, other than finding the truth. Even if that truth was going to break him into a thousand tiny pieces that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to put any of it back together.

The streets of the city were lit up with the streetlamps and yet so dark at the same time. The group of boys stuck to the shadows, and Jack tried not to think about what he was leading all of these boys too. Because even if Race was there and perfectly fine, or if he was hurt, or if he wasn’t there at all, that didn’t change the fact that all of them had messed up, that anything could have happened and they would have had no idea about any of it.

Maybe Jack shouldn’t have taken these boys, but that hadn’t even been a choice. They were probably feeling just as guilty as Jack was, except it actually was Jack’s responsibility to make sure that Race was alright.

These were the boys that were the closest to Race, the older ones anyway. The Refuge wasn’t a place for any of them, but it certainly wasn’t for the younger kids. Hopefully, none of them were caught, but if things went wrong.

Hope was so fleeting anyway.

But there was no way that Jack would have let anyone tell him to stay back at lodging, so there was no way that he would make any of these boys either. It might be the wrong choice, but it definitely wouldn’t be the worst choice that Jack had made this week.

Creeping through the city at night was an otherworldly experience, as shadows grew and fell, sliding into more darkness. Jack stuck to the alleys and side streets as he wound his way throughout the city.

Even though he could hear the footsteps behind him, Jack didn’t look back at them. He didn’t want to see their eyes looking back at him, blaming him for not being responsible enough to make sure that their brother was safe.

He couldn’t hesitate any longer. He didn’t know if it was going to be better or worse when they got there, but the not knowing was even worse. He had to know, and maybe that was selfish. Jack should have been looking for Race a whole extra week, searching every inch of the city for the lost boy. Having that, not knowing the entire time. That time hurt, knowing that he had been messing up so badly and not even knowing it, everything tainted with his utter foolishness.

The Refuge’s imposing figure rose, the streetlamps casting its shadow across the street. Jack took a deep breath. Being back here always caused the worst of his memories to come to the front of his mind, but he had to stay calm. For Race.

Even though the Manhattan boys had plenty of experience sneaking up to visit boys imprisoned in the Refuge, that didn’t mean that the actual experience of it all was routine. Treating it as a routine was how mistakes were made. For a place like the Refuge, there was no place for that. Capture was unthinkable. So caution was key. Besides, the sheer size of the building and grounds meant that the best way to sneak in one time might not be an option the next.

Still, they were working on it. Romeo stayed outside the gates to stand guard, with shockingly little complaining. He was the youngest boy of the group to make the trek to the Refuge. There was no way that Jack could tell him no, but he could still take as many precautions as possible. Besides, he certainly wasn’t going to stand guard when he desperately needed to see Race with his own eyes, if the boy was here.

That was still a big if, but with Jack’s nerves just being around the Refuge, it was going to have to be worth it.

The next few minutes were a combination of sneaking, climbing, and praying that they weren’t going to get caught. Jack, leading the way, rapped on one of the windows, in the room he figured was most likely for Race to be in, based on their history and Race’s age and propensity for trouble.

Jack waited with a bated breath as someone came over to the window. “Hey, you’s got any of my boys in there?” Jack asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth after hardly a greeting. This was it, the moment of truth, the moment to try to figure out what was actually going on here.

The boy nodded. “Yeah, we do. Hang on, just for a sec.”

Jack released his breath and couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. Maybe it was all going to be okay.

That smile slipped from his face as quick as it appeared once he saw the figure coming towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this took so long! Honestly, this is the fourth time I wrote this chapter because I didn't like it, but I think I finally found the right balance of Jack's mental state. Another Spot chapter is up next. Happy beginning of December!


	11. Chapter 11

Spot was back out of Brooklyn lodging, even as some of his boys called out behind him.

He couldn’t just sit on that bed and do nothing, not while Race could be going through anything. He had to at least do something. It had been too long already, and if Spot could make the difference, then he certainly wasn’t going to wait any longer, not while everything still had the capacity to change.

Whatever it was going to take, Spot was just going to have to find some way to be able to deal with it all, no matter what anyone else was doing.

Especially with his own boys responsible... that was just way too much right now. Spot had to do better than that.

He also had more than one purpose in going out, and Spot hated that all of his attention wasn’t focused on Race, but he couldn’t afford for it to be, not with whatever it was in Brooklyn going down. If someone was staging a coup, then that was going to be a problem, one that it could only be up to Spot to fix. And those who he could trust.

Unfortunately, the numbers of those who Spot knew that he could unconditionally trust were limited. Race was at the top of the list, obviously, but he wasn’t here now. And if one of those in his inner circle had betrayed Spot, then he didn’t have a choice in what he had to do. So yeah, it might be impatience, but at least he had something of a plan. That didn’t mean it was going to be good, considering it was formed in low voices afraid of eavesdroppers in only minutes, just before now, but that was fine. They were Brooklyn, after all, and Brooklyn boys were always ready to face anything, even themselves. It wasn’t ideal, but it was real.

Spot ached for Race. Sure, it wasn’t as though Race was good at the whole thinking things out either, but that wasn’t the point. Together, Spot would know that both of them were okay and now, he didn’t know about either of them. It was purgatory, and Spot hated every moment of it. This wasn’t something he had had to experience while they had been official, and it definitely wasn’t an experience Spot was keen to repeat.

Honestly, if it were up to him, Race would never step foot out of Brooklyn lodging after this, though Spot already knew that was impossible. Still, sometimes it was nice, because Spot would gladly have that argument with Race and eventually defer to him just to have the other boy back at his side instead of... wherever he was now.

Spot shook his head, trying to shake those thoughts aside. He had to be on high alert. Even without everything going on within the newsies, traveling alone at night would never be a smart idea. It wouldn’t do to be interrupted by some drunk idiot trying to mug him. Spot was the king of Brooklyn and yes, that really did mean something, even with some idiot thinking that they could do a better job.

He didn’t know what he was going to end up doing with Flick. He certainly wasn’t staying if he was responsible for Race’s disappearance. No matter what the specific cause was, if Flick was responsible... well, it might not be the first time Spot had beaten Flick in a fight, but this time, Spot would completely pound the other boy into the ground with no hesitation. Even now, just thinking about it, Spot’s fists were clenched at his side, ready for action.

Spot tried to ignore the sense of eyes on him, because yeah, he knew that he was being watched. That was the plan in the first place. Sure, he wasn’t sure it was going to work, but if Flick was half as arrogant as Spot thought he was, then it seemed pretty likely that the other boy was going to end up taking the bait.

The Brooklyn streets were so familiar, and Spot only wished that he could be walking them back in the times before all this crap, before his boyfriend had been missing for a week, before. Spot may have never had the words to express it all before, but he did now, and he would, if only he had the opportunity to talk to Racer again.

Spot was mostly just wandering, not in a set way. The assholes in question hadn’t been back at lodging when he had left, or at the very least, not the main ones. He figured that either someone would have left to go tell Flick, or eventually, Flick would notice.

Flick was no mastermind though, that much was already obvious. Spot rolled his eyes at the thought. Spot had been walking long enough that if Flick had been, then the other boy would have already been on him. It had been late, already dark, when he had left Manhattan, and even darker when he had left Brooklyn. Everyone involved in this was definitely going to regret being up so late when they had to sell in only a few hours.

Spot had wound up near the bridge. Maybe he was thinking of Race a little too much, but no one Spot cared about would blame him for that. Race might be Manhattan, but he was still one of them, and not just because he was Spot’s boyfriend. Race was just himself, walking the line between the both boroughs and yet managing to belong to both groups of people so thoroughly, in a way that no one else could even try to imitate.

He may have let his guard down a little, especially since he had heard the footsteps and breathing of his own boys for miles. Still, he was prepared, and no king backs down when they are expecting a violent overthrow, even when that king is the leader of newsboys.

Spot ducked, managing to miss the fist swinging towards his head. His own fists were up before Spot could even turn towards his attackers.

He glowered at the boys that used to be some of his own. He hated them, all five of them, for doing this, doing this to all of them.

Spot could feel some of his boys emerge from the shadows behind him and felt triumph at the shock in Flick’s eyes. He didn’t have time to gloat about that, as he swung towards the boy’s face, hearing the satisfying crunch of the traitor’s nose. Serves him right.

The rage inside Spot, always present, burning brightly, and Spot let it all out. At them, for everything. For hurting Race, for making him disappear, for attacking Spot, for betraying all the Brooklyn newsies, and for everything else they had tried to do and hide in the meantime. Spot wasn’t going to stand for any of this, no anymore, no matter what it was going to take on his behalf.

He didn’t think, focusing on the anger consuming him and the feel of his knuckles stinging but still worth it. Spot might not know what had gone down that night with Racer, but it had to have been bad, and Spot had to feel something. Pain was better than that other stuff.

In the end, it didn’t turn out to be much of a fight. Spot spit on the boy at his feet. He hated that he didn’t feel good, even with all the rush of the fight. He was shaking. This might be the moment he found out the truth and yet now, he didn’t know what to expect and he hated himself for that. His hands shook. Spot ignored it as he looked down at Flick. With his height, so many times he was stuck looking up, but that didn’t mean Spot would ever stop.

Spot hated all of this, especially the way that this was making him all feel. It was supposed to be different from this, but this was how it actually was. The fight hadn’t even been hard. Sure, Spot had some scraped and bruises, maybe even a shiner in the morning, but it hadn’t been that hard to take down the five traitors, between Spot, and two of his boys, Sax and Brighton. Still, three against five might not have been in their favor, but Race had been all alone. Spot couldn’t imagine that outcome would have been better, and he hated the thought.

“What’d yous do?” Spot growled. “Where’s Racer?”

At his feet, Flick just started laughing. When he looked up at Spot, he grinned, though it looked more like a grimace, especially as his teeth were stained with blood.

The scorned boy opened his mouth, and even though Spot didn’t want to hear anything the other boy had to say, he was ready for it, but he was too late to get any answers.

Apparently the bulls had noticed their little middle of the night skirmish.

Spot wanted to run, but he couldn’t without getting answers. He jerked his head at Sax and Brighton, indicating the boys to run, before he turned his attention back to Flick. “Where is he?” Spot growled again, but the other boy just laughed. Spot reached down, grabbing him by his collar and shaking him by the collar, but the boy wouldn’t say anything.

He dropped the miserable traitor back onto the ground. Spot cursed as he saw the bulls coming in closer, closing their ranks. He wasn’t going down. Without a second thought, Spot turned to the only opening he still had, and took off along the Brooklyn Bridge, back towards Manhattan. 

Spot sprinted across the bridge, his feet and heart pounding in tandem. He hadn’t seen which way his boys had run off to, but he’d have to meet up with them later back at lodging. There were just so few options right now, and almost no solutions. Spot just had to keep running. He was not about to get arrested. 

Manhattan definitely wasn’t back where he wanted to be, but he didn’t have a choice, not if he didn’t want to give the bulls a chance to bring in someone else.

He might not be the fastest newsie, but he could still run, and for right now, he just had to be fast enough, especially since he left Flick and his group. Hopefully, the bulls would give up on him. Still, Spot didn’t dare look back over his shoulder, focusing instead on pouring every little bit of energy that he still had into his feet, forcing his stride to lengthen so he could clear the bridge and disappear into the streets of Manhattan. That would just have to work, because it wasn’t as if Spot had another option. There was just so much going on, but he was going to be fine. He’d get out of here, maybe head back to Manhattan lodging. He knew that the boys were planning on waiting until it was very late, but maybe by the time Spot got over there, someone might actually have some answers. Maybe someone would actually have talked with Race by then.  
  
If someone had managed to reach out to Race, well, that would have been an unexpected and worthwhile surprise. Spot needed the other boy to come back, and then maybe by that point, it all really was going to end up being okay. There was so much danger, but if anyone would have survived, then it definitely would have been Racetrack Higgins. Spot believed in the other boy more than anyone else. Maybe things were going to be okay.

Of course, it wasn’t as though those types of things could ever work out the exact ways that it was supposed to. The world would never actually manage to be that easy, and right now, it was far too late for any of that stuff.

Still, he just had to keep on telling himself that he was doing fine, despite any of the rest of the stuff going on. No one had ever claimed that it was going to be easy, but Spot just had to keep on running and hopefully by that point, there was actually going to be a shot at all the rest of this stuff coming true, regardless of anything else that might still be going on at this point.

For now, Spot just had to keep breathing and moving. He might be small, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t get out of there. Right now, that wasn’t even an option. Whatever else might be going on here, Spot just had to keep on going, pushing forward on his aching feet.

Spot was hardly two steps off the bridge when it already proved to be too late for him, as he ran right into the waiting arms of Manhattan bulls.  
  
Crap.

The boy pulled away, struggling. It didn’t prove successful, even as he managed to take a few swings and at least make some contact. It just wasn’t enough. A fist hurtled towards his face.

Spot lost a few minutes there, and by the time that he was more or less back with it, it was far too late for him to do anything about this, in a cart with his hands cuffed behind him. It might not be entirely his fault, but Spot had still screwed up. He had been so focused on Race and Flick, that he had forgotten about his own safety and Manhattan juvenile reformatories.

On the bright side, at least he’d be able to see for himself if Race was really in the Refuge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter, since it wasn't long enough to break into two for this work. Thanks so much for reading. It gives me life every time I see an email notification. Hope it'll be worth it in the end.


	12. Chapter 12

Race was feverish.

Everything didn’t make sense anymore, but he was to the point where he was beyond caring about how any of this stuff was supposed to be. Maybe that thought should have scared him, but he couldn’t care about that either. Everything was spinning, spiraling out of control, and Race had no idea if it was his fever or the Refuge or some combination of the two.

It was like he was floating, but he both was and wasn’t actually there. Nothing made sense anymore, but he didn’t worry about it as he floated. Sometimes, he heard music, but he knew better than to think that that was real.

It was hard to remember anything, including how he had gotten here. Or what had happened at all. Whatever it was, Race wished that he wasn’t alone. If anyone else was here with him, then maybe they’d be able to make sense of everything. Race had no idea what was going on. His brothers always had his back and should be able to think for him here. But Race was just so alone.

He missed Spot, though. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his boyfriend. Race felt so sick. Why wasn’t Spot with him? Last year when Race got the flu, Spot was at his side most of the time. Where was he? Race couldn’t remember what had happened, but what if something bad had happened to the other boy?

At the thought of Spot in danger, Race struggled to sit up, even as the world swirled around him. Race gripped the sheets below him tightly in his fists, trying to steady himself. He wasn’t sure where he was, but it was fine. He might be a little delirious, but he had to find Spot. If he did, then he knew that Spot would tell him what was going on. And if Spot was in danger, then Race needed to be at his side.

Race took a deep breath to prepare himself to stand, but the motion sent him into a fit of coughing, hoarse dry coughs that wracked his entire frame. Race shook.

By the time he could breathe again, Race felt more lightheaded than ever, but he couldn’t stop. If Spot was in danger... Race would do whatever it took to save him, even if Race wasn’t feeling well himself. And if he wasn’t at Race’s side as Race coughed and shivered, then the only thing that made sense was if Spot was in danger.

Race wasn’t sure how sound his logic was, but he couldn’t afford to wait any longer, not if something really was wrong. With a heave, Race forced himself upright onto his feet.

He stood there, shaking, but only for a moment. His legs, shaky and unsteady, gave up the illusion of support. Race crashed towards the floor.

The next thing Race knew, he was back in the bed. He was so unbelievable hot. Race forced the blanket off of him, instantly regretting it as his arms trembled. What was the matter with him? Something had to be wrong.

Even as the world spun around him, Race groped around, trying to reach someone, but he was all alone. That wasn’t right. He hadn’t been so utterly alone in years, not since he joined the newsies and got his new family. How sick was he? What was wrong? It didn’t make sense.

Race’s eyebrows turned in as he frowned, trying to figure out what had happened. When had he managed to get so sick?

The boy glanced down at his chest and gasped at the sight of his chest, even as that sent him into yet another coughing fit. What the hell had happened to him? The angry purples stood out against his pale skin. He looked as if he had lost a fight with a brick wall. Sure, Race knew he was an idiot, but that didn’t make any of this make sense.

Race needed to figure out what was going on, but he was just so tired. His limbs weighed him down, feeling like he’d never be able to move from this bed again.

He knew that he should be far more concerned than he actually was, because no part of this was right. Everything was off, the entire world was tilting, and if there was one thing that Race knew, it was that he didn’t belong here. This was not his bunk, surrounded by all of his brothers, or even Spot’s bunk, with the little window looking out in hope to the rest of the city.

If only he could remember where he was, but that was eluding him. Any thought in his mind, even when they felt right within grasp, just floated away, Race unable to get his hands on it, even as he desperately clutched at them. He knew enough to know that he had to somehow figure out what was going on, even if he couldn’t remember right now.

He started coughing again, the wheezing and roughness in his chest sounding horrible, like he’d never catch his breath again. Race instinctually forced himself up, or as up as he could go, still leaning heavily on the headboard.

He knew that he needed to get up, to do something, to stop all of this stuff, but right now, he had no idea what to do.

It was like time didn’t even matter anymore. He had no idea how much time had passed, how long he had been in that bunk in the Refuge, or even how much time he had spent here since that moment. It was almost like he wasn’t here, but the pain told him otherwise. Race was definitely alive, but he wasn’t actually sure if that was a good thing.

All he knew was that he definitely wasn’t with the newsies, because otherwise he’d have his brothers all around him and even though he’d still feel like crap, at least he’d have some familiar faces at his side. Jack would stand there, looking so guilty all the time, even as he forced the other boys away to get rest or sell or just not worry. Spot wouldn’t want to leave him, and might not at all.

Wait, Spot. The Brooklyn boys. Race had to tell him what happened that night, right? Did he?

No, he definitely didn’t because in order to do that, then he’d actually be with the other boys right now instead of stuck in whatever type of place this was.

The details were fuzzy right now, just like everything else in his mind, so it wasn’t like he’d actually be of any use in providing information anyway.

It was hard to remember any of what was going on, but he didn’t have the choice. He had to protect his boys.

Right, focus. If it was hard for Race to focus under normal circumstances and keep his mind on track, then it was nearly impossible right now. None of this made any sense, and his head hurt so back it was like it was impossible to focus on anything.

But he definitely wasn’t with the newsies, which meant that he had to figure out where he was and get out of there. Sure, he didn’t have a great track record with escape and wasn’t in the best condition, but he didn’t have a choice.

Maybe he just needed to rest a little more. Surely there wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait a little longer? He wasn’t in good shape, and maybe if he could wait just a little bit longer, he’d be able to move without feeling like his lungs were about to burst out of his chest.

This probably wasn’t the best situation to be in, but this was what he had. Sure, this most definitely was not ideal. If he felt this bad now, then he needed to get out of here as soon as possible. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a choice. There were limits, and it was looking more and more like Race was at his. For now, this would have to be enough.

He didn’t even know if any of his brothers knew where he was or what had happened, so Race was just going to have to fight for himself, no matter how impossible that seemed right now in his current state.

Race dozed off. It was hard to fall into a deep sleep, since every little movement jolted his ribs in pain, sometimes kick starting another coughing fit.

When he woke the next time, Race gaped as he recognized the figure standing over the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter may have taken a while but on the bright side it was because I started chapters from all three povs and had no idea which order they should go in plotwise, so in theory it shouldn't take as long before the next chapter. Race is an angsty boy.


	13. Chapter 13

Even though Spot had never actually been to the Refuge before, he had heard all the stories.

Most of them were from Race, who gossiped more than anyone else Spot knew. Not even just the really dark stuff either, though Spot was sure he had heard most of those stories concerning the Manhattan newsies there, but just general life.

He just never thought that he would ever experience it.

The whole thing was just so dumb, so unfair, but there wasn’t anything that he could do about this now. He should be out there, trying to plan and scheme and do what was best for Race instead of throwing more issues into the whole thing. It had to be easier to break one person out than two.

At least if Race was here, then he’d know for sure. Yeah, it would probably be a lot easier to plan an escape for Racer from the outside, but he’d just have to make do with this, even if it most definitely was not what he had planned. The Manhattan boys had a lot more experience getting their boys out of the Refuge, anyway.

Still, Spot had never been good at just sitting back and letting things happen to him. As long as he was still here, then Spot would have to find his own way to escape, to survive and go beyond that point. He had his reputation to think of. Sure, that usually went out the window when it came to Race, but the world didn’t just stop now that Spot was on the inside.

Spot tried not to resist the guards’ tugs, forcing his cool expression to stay on his face counter to all the raging thoughts within. He would not allow anyone to take advantage of his emotions. So even as he went limp, a part of him knew he was just biding his time. And honestly, Spot would go through absolutely anything just for the shot of being with his boyfriend again. Reputation be damned. He could always make that up later, but he only had one Racetrack Higgins.

He didn’t know if that was romantic or foolish, but it wasn’t as if he had the intention of getting caught. He had caught the person responsible for Race’s disappearance, but that didn’t mean that he knew what had happened after those assholes had caught up with Racer. Maybe the only person who could answer that was Race. That didn’t make finding him any easier.

Not resisting was difficult, even though Spot knew it was his best choice in the moment. Usually, he couldn’t care less about who he pissed off, because Spot had the brawn and strength to back up anything that he said or did. The Refuge, for all the dark mutterings Spot had heard of it, was not the place for acting up, especially if he wanted the chance to find Race.

Spot knew he should be freaking out a lot more, but he wasn’t. In a way, it was almost like he was underwater. Nothing was moving right, but that was fine. He just had to remain focused on his goal. Find Racer and then get out of here and back to lodging. Heck, Spot would even take Manhattan lodging right now, since that was technically Race’s home. Sure, Spot had responsibilities in Brooklyn, but he had his own responsibilities to Race as well. It was almost too much, but he was fine. It was going to be just fine.

Spot glared down at his feet, keeping his mouth shut and completely ignoring the Spyder. It wasn’t like that man was actually going to say anything useful, and Spot didn’t care about any of it. Finally, the Spyder dismissed Spot and the guards holding him frog marched him towards the stairs. It was times like this that Spot wished he was taller. His height very rarely got in his way of doing whatever he wanted to do, and no one was going to be able to stop him, but in times like right now, it just proved to be an utter inconvenience. He didn’t cast an imposing enough figure, though that didn’t mean he was incapable.

He didn’t know if he had ever felt so small as a newsie, like nothing he could do would even matter, and Spot hated it. He wasn’t supposed to be that same little scared kid anymore, the one who he had been before. The one he had sworn to never be forced to be ever again.

Only a few steps into the room and Spot was dumped onto the floor. The door slammed behind him. Spot barely caught himself on his hands and knees, probably adding a scrape or two to his collection but right now, he couldn’t care less. The only thing on his mind right now was Race, the name chanting inside his head. Race. Race. Racer.

Under normal circumstances, he’d tell Race and the other boy would flush as he made a joke about it, but Race was nowhere to be found and that was the most important thing. These weren’t normal circumstances, but Spot was going to everything possible to go back to that point again.

Spot scanned the room, looking at the drawn faces of every teenage boy that occupied the room, feeling his heart sink at each one that wasn’t the familiar face of his boyfriend. If only he could find him, then everything was going to be okay. Sure, that seemed a little counterintuitive considering that obviously he didn’t want his boyfriend to have been tortured for the last week, but at least if he was here, then that meant that there was actually something for Spot to do. If Race was safe in his arms, then at least Spot would know where he was and that he was safe now.

He hated that he had to talk to the other boys, but Race was his priority and Race most definitely was not in this room. His words were gruff, and he tried to be careful. No one needed to know that Spot Conlon was stuck in the Refuge. That would do hell for his reputation, and would raise more questions than he was willing to answer. No one else needed to know why Spot Conlon was so frantically inquiring about the location of another boy. Some people knew, but if those assholes from his borough had proven anything, it was that Race was in danger when people knew what he meant to Spot.

That didn’t mean that Spot was going to give up Race. The other boy was just going to have to deal with the danger, because they were better together. Spot doubted he’d mind anyway, if that meant that they got to stay together. Still, that meant caution. Keeping their relationship under wraps was ideal for both of them. They might be better together, but they had their own identities.

Spot had always lived on control, and with everything that had been happening, he had never felt more out of control. Somehow, he just had to keep on going, to find his own way back, and then maybe he’d actually be able to fix everything that he had messed up, before it was too late.

He had so many things to worry and stress about, so many problems that he had to figure out some solution. But for right now, he just had to keep his head straight and keep on pushing. At the end of the day, it didn’t actually matter what anyone else was saying or doing. There were so many more important things in the meantime, that by far had priority over anything else that might go on here. Those were all about Race, but he didn’t have to admit that to anyone.

All of this going on right now, from working with Jack Kelly to everything else, this was all about Race, and Spot was fine with that, but it left the question of what exactly he was supposed to do now, when a few people could tell of a newsboy dragged in just over a week ago that looked like a drowned rat, but no one knew what had happened to him or where he was.

Spot was too late.

He needed control, but right now, everything was slipping through his fingers. It was like he wasn’t even in his body right now, like everything was happening to him and he didn’t have control over himself, much less anything in this whole fucking stupid situation. All of this stuff that had happened, working with Manhattan and setting up a trap, it was for nothing because Racer was just gone and what the hell was Spot supposed to do now?

He didn’t remember sitting on the floor. In all actuality, he probably lost some time, but he didn’t care anymore, not with Racer-

Spot couldn’t think about it. Sure, the boy was sick the last time anyone saw him, but that didn’t mean that he was dead, right? He could be, well, somewhere. Spot didn’t know. There were no good solutions here, which just made everything else even harder. Race was always his number one priority, but right now, there was no way to make that happen.

It was getting hard to think of anything at all. Spot was just too overwhelmed and the suffocating panic didn’t make that any easier. Of course he was panicking. This was Race that they were talking about here, and that boy was far more special than anything else that could possibly be going on. Spot just needed to find some way to get it all together, even though right now, that felt impossible.

He would not cry because he was Spot Conlon, but right now, in the harsh, unforgiving world, thinking that he’d never see the boy he loved ever again, he was pretty darn close.

And if he knew that he’d be crying later, once everything sunk in and it was dark enough that no one could see him, well, that was how it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, probably not the update you wanted for this fic, but it's the update you get. Very angsty Spot. I finally had the chance to finish this thanks to the surprise week off of class. I promise to finish this at some point, hopefully sooner rather than later. The end is in sight!


	14. Chapter 14

Jack stared into the dark eyes of Spot Conlon.

He didn’t know what to do.

How the hell had Spot... what had happened? What was going on? Where was Race?

Jack had the answers to exactly none of these questions, some of which he didn’t even know that he needed to ask until this very moment. Spot Conlon. In the Refuge. It was like his brain wasn’t working right. Part of Jack expected to open his eyes to be back in his penthouse on the roof, that all of this was just some sort of messed up dream. That Race was fine, just a few floors below in his own bunk after sneaking back in late after spending most of his night with his secret boyfriend. But this was real. Things just kept on getting harder.

Jack Kelly wasn’t speechless very often in his life, but this was definitely one of those times.

Spot wasn’t looking too great himself, his face puffy and red. He must have just been hit, the area not even having enough time to bruise yet. But then again, it hadn’t been all that long since Jack had last seen him. It felt like he had just left Manhattan to head back to his own borough. What the hell had happened to him in the meantime?

But even though this definitely wasn’t a good sign, Jack still had to have hope. Even though he knew better, he still had to ask. If Race was actually here, then there was no way that Spot would leave his side for even a moment, especially just to see Jack Kelly. But he needed to know, needed to have the confirmation, even if it was the opposite of good news.

Jack cleared his throat. “Is Race...?” was all he struggled out before he trailed off.

Spot shrugged, the gesture violent, and Jack could practically see all the anger behind that one tiny motion.

Jack figured.

That begged the question of where Race was, but right now, there was Spot to deal with. Race would kill him if Jack just left Spot here, assuming that Race was still around to actually do some harm. Jack prayed Race was still around to enforce that threat.

It wasn’t as if Jack was going to leave Spot if it wasn’t for his relationship with Race, but it was easier to think of things that way. His relationship with Spot Conlon was... complicated, to say the least, and some things were easier to pretend. Of course, now that everything he had expected had been turned on its side, nothing made sense anymore. It wasn’t normal, none of this, and maybe it was foolish for Jack to keep on acting like it was.

“Found the guys who last saw Racer. Didn’t get to hear what happened before the bulls showed up. Brooklyn cops got ‘em. I made it ‘cross the bridge before they nabbed me.”

Jack nodded, but his mind was anywhere but here as the thoughts swirled around his head. It felt like every single thing they found out just made everything even more complicated. Jack didn’t know where that new spark of information left him, or what to do with it. He didn’t even have a clue what to do at all, with any of this. He was just lost.

Usually, whenever Jack had to make a tough decision as the leader of the Manhattan newsies, he leaned on Racer. The two boys had known each other for years and trusted each other as brothers for the vast majority of that time. Now that all of this scary stuff was about Race, that made everything else infinitely harder.

Every time they took a step forward to getting closer to discovering the truth about what had happened to Race, it was like they lost even more. Jack knew he had to have hope, but that just felt impossible.

“Who was it?” he asked.

Spot looked down at his feet. “Some assholes trying to start some shit. It ain’t even about Racer.”

Jack always had trouble reading Spot Conlon, but right now, he was pretty sure he could read between the lines. Sure, Spot wasn’t the most forthcoming under the best circumstances, but Spot felt responsible, and Jack couldn’t blame him. Jack felt the same way about himself. They both had messed up in their own ways, and even though logically Jack knew that it technically wasn’t either of their faults, that didn’t matter to his brain. He had failed Race, and Jack was so scared that it was going to be too late to make it up to his little brother, his second in command, everything that Racer was to him.

Even though he knew Spot was upset, that didn’t make Jack any less irritated with the other boy. Honestly, Jack didn’t even know what it was, but the two boys had always rubbed each other the wrong way. Feeling sorry for Spot didn’t alleviate any annoyance Jack had while he was trying to get information out of Spot, to discover what exactly was going on.

At the end of the day, Jack had to be sure that his little brother was going to get out of this, no matter the other circumstances. So yeah, he was going to keep pushing Spot. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for, but it wasn’t as if he actually knew what was going on right now. Just because Spot felt like crap didn’t mean that Jack was going to let him get away with this. Race needed them to have the answers, if they were ever actually to have a chance at finding him.

He had no idea what his chances were anymore, but that wasn’t what mattered. Jack had to have hope, and that meant pushing to find the truth, even pushing the jerk that was Spot Conlon.

“And? What issit about then, Spotty?”

A flash of something shot through Spot’s gaze. making the other boy seem more like himself than ever, instead of whatever this sad replica of the king of Brooklyn in this children’s prison had become. “Don’t call me that. It’s handled.”

“Well, where is ‘e then?”

“Racer ain’t here. I’s,” Spot’s voice broke on the last word, before he cleared his throat, his voice sounding stronger on the second attempt. “I’s ain’t found anythin’ out yet, but those boys is definitely responsible. My boys know, and they ain’t dumb enough ta not tell me when they learn.”

“What happened?”

Spot just shrugged. “Couple o’ idiots. Brooklyn problem.”

“No, you’s don’t just get to pass this off as a Brooklyn problem. This is about Racer. It’s our problem.”

The other boy sneered. “Yeah, ‘cause they was tryin’ ta distract me. Pull some leadership crap. They’s all got ‘emselves arrested too. So yeah, it is a Brooklyn problem. We’s dealing with it.”

Jack took a deep breath, trying to prevent himself from losing control. That wouldn’t do any good right now, no matter how on edge he felt. The feeling was definitely unsettling, and he could only blame part of that on being at the Refuge. It was all about Race, about Spot, about the mess that their lives had become. Jack had to do better, to be better, to actually fix everything that was going on, even though he was faced with the complete idiot by the name of Spot Conlon.

The two boys had never gotten along, but they owed it to Racer, wherever he was, to try. They had to get him back wherever he was now. Jack ignored the little voice in the back of his head telling him it was far too late for any of that now. They still had to have a chance to get through this, to fix everything. Just because things felt impossible didn’t mean that they actually were.

“Whatever. I’s still think that I need ta know, but that ain’t the point right now. Race is. He really ain’t here?”

Even as Spot was posturing against Jack, there was just something about the whole situation that made his size more present than ever. Spot Conlon always seemed to be larger than life, but the fear and grief had taken over by this point and honestly, Jack couldn’t blame him. He felt the same way, but this wasn’t about him now. Jack couldn’t afford to lose it, not until he actually had Race safe and sound, and he didn’t know when (not if) that was going to happen.

He knew better than to ever doubt his little brother, even as literally everything else just felt completely impossible. Just because all of these things were hard, if not impossible right now did not mean that they could give up. Of course the circumstances weren’t good, but Jack couldn’t afford to doubt his little brother ever again.

Sure, some of that was definitely self-serving, but he was doing fine. He just had to keep on moving, to discover the truth and Racer. He was just afraid that those two things weren’t compatible.

It was fine, though. Jack took another deep breath as Spot shook his head no. Yeah, he had basically said as much, but it was still important to know for sure. “Right. You know anything ‘bout what happened after them Brooklyn boys attacked him?”

Spot shrugged. “He may have been here, but he ain’t anymore. Description matches, but ‘s vague enough prob’ly coulda been half the boys in New York.”

“Where is that boy if he ain’t there anymore?”

“Dunno. No one knows either.”

Jack felt something in his heart feel close to shattering, but he wasn’t going to give up. There had to be an answer here, had to be a solution, had to be some way that everything could go back to the way it was. Jack just couldn’t think of what that could be.

He needed to plan, and unfortunately that meant being on the same page as Spot Conlon. Before he could say anything else, he heard a low whistle down from the grounds of the Refuge.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “I gotta go. I’ll be back, but try ta figure out anythin’ else ya can, a’ight?”

Jack didn’t wait for a reply before he was scrambling down the wall, dropping the last few feet. It might be important to move as quietly as possible, but it was even more important to get out of there as soon as possible. Jack wasn’t waiting around to figure out what Snyder wanted to do to him this time.

There still weren’t any answers, but Jack wasn’t about to give up now, as he joined the rest of the boys he had brought with him in sneaking out of there as fast as possible.

He hated knowing that he had to go back home and tell all his boys that their lost brother was still missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue how I got this up without making you all wait another month. Considering that I've posted two chapters since finishing my major project, that might have something to do with it. But I have no clue whose pov is next so it might take awhile (again). Thanks for sticking with me.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot where Race was beaten up by Brooklyn newsies and yet somehow he ended up in the East River. This was also technically supposed to be me working on the WIP I have partially posted. Either way, hopefully posting will be semi regular on this fic. I'm really excited for some of the ideas I have for this fic though!


End file.
